


tie the string around your finger

by langolier



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, F/M, Hiatus, Slow Burn, about to get jossed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2019-01-19 11:14:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12409275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/langolier/pseuds/langolier
Summary: listen, my grammar is terrible and nobody actually gets together in this (im so sorry) and we all know this is gonna be hella jossed in two weeks when the second season premiers....but this is the first thing I've successfully written in eight months so here you go internet.not my characters, own nothing, I just wanted to write the middle part a bit...since it's usually my favourite part of anything.





	tie the string around your finger

**Author's Note:**

> listen, my grammar is terrible and nobody actually gets together in this (im so sorry) and we all know this is gonna be hella jossed in two weeks when the second season premiers....but this is the first thing I've successfully written in eight months so here you go internet.
> 
> not my characters, own nothing, I just wanted to write the middle part a bit...since it's usually my favourite part of anything.

The days after New Years always feel like inbetween time to Nancy, not really real time. Sure, you're back at school and Mom is heating up leftovers every night but the holiday is over and the trees and the flowers are still brittle stems, asleep under ice and snow. Everyone made resolutions and life hasn't come through yet and allowed you to forget about them. 

Mom got you new hoop earings for Christmas, real gold. She said they were from both her and Dad but you know she picked them out. Just like you know she got the smaller size with the subtle twist engraving because they're almost an exact match to a pair her mom gave her. She's trying. 

Since Will came back, since Barb is still missing and no one really knows why. You've worn the hoops everyday, put them on right away Christmas morning, wear your hair up and back habitually now to show them off. You're trying too.

The sun is out today, hard and bright, but it's still cold enough that you've become very aware of the tops of your ears. You know they'd be red if you had a mirror to check. Your hat is in your locker, probably, maybe Steve's car. Wherever it is, it's not with you now, standing under the big tree at the gate of the cemetary.

You don't go in. That would be weird. Weirder.

Barb isn't buried in there anyway. You know that. Most everybody still thinks she ran off. You know better. When you see Barbs mom at the supermarket there's something heavy on her. When you catch each others eyes over the produce, or in the cereal aisle, you know she knows it too. 

But there's no Barb in the cemetary and you know it's stupid to keep coming. Even though the people under the headstones aren't really there either and visitors still come to see them Headstones are for the ones that miss them, not the ones that are gone. 

You wish Barb had a headstone, something with her name on it you could sit next to, think next to. The bark of the tree is cold and rough against your forehead. You wish Barb had a headstone, you wish you'd remembered your hat, you wish you hadn't made Barb come with you to Steve's that night.

You wish, you wish, you wish, you wish; and your tears turn to frost on your face.

*

Facts about mitochondria look foreign on the paper for a minute but you roll your shoulders to get the kinks out, you still have forty more minutes of review to get through. Will is laughing at something your brother said in the kitchen. You can hear it upstiars. 

Your door is only closed a little (you're still trying) and the sound pulls you out of flash card review for biology. Steve phones ten minutes later but when Moms calls up, you yell back 'Studying, see you tomorrow' without thinking, without looking away from your cards.

Three definitions to go and and Dustin is pounding up the stairs, you can smell whats left of the pizza before he makes it to the door.  
'Hey Nance, there's a slice left if you want it?' He's holding the whole box out to you, still at the threshold to your room. You put the last three cards face down on your bed and get up. Grab the slice in one hand, take the box away in the other and start walking him down the stairs again. 

'Thanks,' you say around pizza, 'Good campaign?' 

'Pheonomenal! There was a drgaon, ' he nearly trips into the banister trying to tell you about it.

The front door is open and Lucas calls out from the drive way "Ride's here, move your butt!" Dustin waves quickly,  
'Later Nance' tossed over his shoulder as he shuffle runs toward Lucas and the car idling at the top of the drive. You can see Jonathan at the wheel, face a little hollowed out from the street light spilling through the windshield.

You'd raised your hand to wave goodbye to Dustin so you keep it up, move it back and forth a little until you see Jonathan’s fingers move on the steering wheel. He doesn't lift his hand away, just those two fingers tossed up like a peace sign, but you're pretty sure he smiled a little. Pretty sure it wasn't just a trick of the light from the street lamp. Pretty sure. 

*

Your locker won't open and the bell is ringing, ringing, ringing. You're going to be late anyway, it shouldn't matter so much, but it's Wednesday and Steve has practice after school. He has to leave early from last period, all the team are allowed to, so you can go see Barb without having to explain. 

You can only go if you leave straight from class though, and you need your history book for later and you can't get the stupid lock open. 

'Stuck?' Your annoyance is the only thing that stops you from shouting in shock, but it's likely Jonathan didn't miss how your whole body went completely still for a solid second. 

'I'm going to be late already,' you're trying the combination again, 'it's fine.' It is fine, you can just go tomorrow, Steve has practice tomorrow too, you can just-

'I'll get it, go to class.' The combination dies halfway through and your hand is just holding the lock so you can look at him with your full attention for the first time since he scared you half dead.

'What?' You heard the words but they're not making sense. Doesn't seem to matter though. Jonathan is just moving into the space you were occupying, shuffling you out of the way until you're standing there watching him.

'Which book do you need?' Like they're talking about the weather, and not like he's about to break into your locker or something. You answer on autopilot.

'History, but it's-'

'Fine. You said.' He looks at you straight on, not out from under his eyebrows the way he usually does. 'I've got spare period, for the dark room, I can meet you with it after. It's no big deal.'

'I was going to go-' stand outside the cemetary and visit someone who isn't buried there. It sounds stupid in your head and your voice trails off into nothing. But Jonathan is just nodding his head like you spoke the rest out loud, or worse, like he read your thoughts.

'By the tree still?' and you shouldn't be surprised he remembers, but you are and you have to answer on autopilot again.

'Yeah.' Your bag is digging into your shoulder, thankfully, it gives you something to do with your hands. 

'Okay, just the history book?' He's setting his own bag onto the floor between his feet, about to do you have no idea what but then the warning bell is echoing off the walls and you're running to class,

'14 44 28 15' you shout over your shoulder, since he can't actually read your mind. Right?

*

You forgot he saw you there before. 

It was right after Christmas and Dustins parents were hosting the campaign. Mom was still dealing with Grandma and Grandpa and trying to get dinner ready so you volunteered to go pick up Mike, walk him back home. Everything was still closed and you took the long way around the block, give Mike a few extra minutes to slay the Manticore, or whatever it was this week. 

Honestly, it was just nice to be by yourself for a bit. No best behaviour for family, no smiling face for whatever story Steve was telling you. Just you and the bitter cold where your mouth could be a hard thin line and no one would say anything about it. 

Everyone is trying to get back to normal. You are too, you know you are, know that's why you agreed to go to the party Steve's parents are hosting in their neighbourhood for New Years. Normal people go to parties with their boyfriends on New Years. Normal people worry about mid terms and school sports games and junior prom. Dancing with their friends in just the right dress and having the coolest guy in school sway with you for every slow song.

You don't know when you started crying but you are; standing in front of the cemetary gate. It snowed yesterday so the drive into the parking and lanesways is uncleared. Headstones barely visible through the snow, little shadows evenly spaced in the white field, but for one right in the middle. From this distance you can just make out the reds and yellows on the snow. Someone left flowers.

It seems to hit you all at once - there would be no flowers for Barb. No cheering at the games on Friday nights, no struggling together over English Lit, no dancing at the prom, and no place to come and say 'hello, I miss you' on the day after Christmas. 

The snow isnt too deep at the entrance, the wind pushed drifts further out into the fields, so you walk up to the iron fence and stand under the tree. Just in case someone drives by there's less chance they'll tell Mom they saw you weeping infront of the cemetary on boxing day.

Normal people don't do that either.

Five minutes, you bargain with yourself. You can wait five more minutes. Dustins house is right around the corner, they'll just think you walked slow. You take off your mitts so you can wipe your cheeks. No one will notice, it's cold out, they'll think it's just the wind. Five more minutes and you'll be fine.

'Nancy?' 

A part of you freezes away and falls to the ground, thinking the worst, but it's Jonathan that walks through the gate. He looks like he wants to ask you if you're okay, but he doesn't, and that little mercy allows you to get your voice out of where it's also frozen, somewhere in your ribs.

'I'm fine.' Say it again and again and again until you believe it. 'I'm picking up Mike, from the Manticore thing.' 

'Me too,' Jonathans hands are deep in his pockets so when he shrugs toward Dustins house his whole coat moves, up down, like a cartoon. 'For Will,' he adds at the end, like you wouldn't have realized he wasn't talking about Mike too.  
He looks out across the field and it's hard to tell with him, but you wonder if he's remembering Wills fake funeral. They never had a headstone for Will, he came back to life before the funeral home put the order in, but you remember the little plaque that sat at the top of the grave, marking the spot it was supposed to go. You remember Jonathans face when he looked at it.

He's looking at you now, a little out of the corner of his eye, 'Is she-' he starts to ask

'No, it's, ' your jaw clenches together hard, 'everyone thinks she ran off. They wouldn't,' you jerk your chin out to the field, where the flowers are still bright under the sun.

You can feel your eyes burning again so you bite out 'We'll be late,' before pressing your lips hard together, wiping your nose with the back of your mitt. You start to shuffle through the snow without meeting Jonathans eyes.

He falls into step next to you and doesn't say a word the whole way. 

*

The floorboard creaks outside your room and your head snaps up so fast the nerves burn all the way up the side of your face. Breaths shallow, you inch your way forward, hand stretched out to the floor, fingers reaching out for the handle of the baseball bat you've tucked just behind the sham under your bed. 

It's at least two in the morning. You woke up from the nightmare at one, and you're almost the whole way through your lab report write up and the house was silent. 

You've got the bat now, slidding it out from under the bed without taking your eyes off the door, 

'Nance' it's barely a whisper. If you hadn't had everything in your focused toward the hallway, you doubt you'd have heard it. And there's no reason why you should know it's Mike, except you do.

'Come in' you breath out and the door opens slowly, quietly, so it doesn't squeak and wake your parents. Mike slips into the room and just as carefully closes the door. You haven't bothered to hide the bat, so you're still holding it braced like a staff next to the bed when he turns around. He registers it but doesn't comment, doesn't need to. For one of the few moments in your lives there is perfect understanding. You move your books over and make room next to you at the foot of the bed.

'Can't sleep?' you ask. He shrugs his shoulders, still so thin under his t shirt, and doesn't say anything, just sits next to you. You slide your physics textbook over to him and he opens it to the first unit. Everything is quiet for a while, you’ve made it to the conclusion of your report.

‘Do you think it’s still there,’ He says without looking at you, fingernail scratching faintly against the page, and your eyes dart quickly to the bat leaning against the footboard, ‘the Upside Down?’ You’d been thinking of the monster and you know what you want your answer to be but it wouldn’t be truth.

‘Yea,’ you say, meeting his eyes now, ‘yea, it’s there.’ He nods his head a little, tucking his chin down toward his chest and you watch his hands clench, fists against the textbook. You’re closer now, since everything, but you’re still out of practice talking to each other; so youwait him out. 

‘Do you think El is there?’ Your hand reaches out to cover one of his, like your heart told it to instead of your brain, and you squeeze hard. You think of Barb and you could cry so easily right then but you don’t want to make this about you. You have no comfort to give really, only honesty.

‘I don’t know,’ you try to keep steady but your voice comes out rough and uneven. He tries to shrug again but he gives up and just hunches forward. Your free arm pulls him in, like you used to when he was still a baby like Holly, like you haven’t done for years, and you hold on.

‘What if she’s there all alone?”

You don’t know how to answer that. How are you supposed to answer that? The thought of that grave little girl trapped like Barb, like Will, all alone in the dark. It must be cold to think it, but oh you hope she died. Better dead than trapped alone where everything wants to look like here but it’s all wrong instead.

‘I’m sorry,’ you whisper. Nothing else to offer, you keep your arm around his shoulders, ‘I’m so sorry Mike.’

You doze, leaning against each other, in and out of half sleep until you hear your dad’s feet hit the floor across the hall. You have to nudge Mike a little, he’d drifted deeper than you, fortunately. Hopefully he wouldn’t pass out in second period and have the school call home about him. 

You’d be fine, this was hardly the first time since November you’ve gone with little sleep. Mike shuffles toward the door but just before he opens it, he turns around and comes over to your side, hugs you quickly, one hard grip around your shoulders.

‘Thanks Nance,’ said into your hair. 

Surprised, you recover in time to hug him back with the arm not trapped between you, saying ‘anytime’ into the air over his shoulder and then he’s out the door. You lose track, staring past your reflection in the mirror, and Mom comes to knock lightly on the doorframe. 

‘Breakfast is ready honey.’ Her hair is already curled and pinned back for the day, your grandmothers pearls resting on the the paisley print of the apron. 

You smile, hope it disguises the purple smudges of tiredness you caught sight of in the mirror, ‘be right down Mom.’ Mom smiles back, rests her hand gently on the wood and pauses,

‘You okay?’ She asks, her head tilted with the question so the ends of her hair catch the light. She’s so beautiful, she’s always been so beautiful it felt like a space between you. How could you have come from someone like that? 

It’s seems like an even bigger distance now and you wonder if you’re past the point where you could tell her everything that’s happened.

‘I’m fine,’ you smile and she smiles and then she nods once, tells you to hurry so you won’t be late and disappears downstairs. You keep your smile in place until you hear her feet on the landing and when it drops you feel the headache starting behind your eyes. It’s Thursday, you remember while sneaking some concealer from your moms vanity, and you and Jonathan have the same spare period.

*

You find him in the darkroom. His classmate, a girl named Diane you’ve only spoken to once, let’s you in and points toward the back where he’s hunched over the tray in the corner. You wait until he’s carefully lifted the print out of the solution and clipped it next to the others on the line to dry before going to stand next to him. 

The newest shot is one from the pep rally last friday, done in black and white so the stadium lights glow brightly in the upper corner, highlighting the hands reaching out from the stands. He must have heard you walk in because he looks over like you were expected.

‘Hey,’ he says while sliding the next sheet into the tray.

‘Hey,’ you say back, ghost of smile around your mouth that grows into a grin when you see the next print develop in the solution. It’s Will and Mike, mugging for the camera with the snow and trees behind them. They’ve both put bunny ears behind the others head and their mouths are wide open with laughter. Something must give you away because Jonathan breaths out a laugh and when you look over he’s grinning too.

‘It’s for my mom.’ He explains, smile still living at the sides of his mouth.

‘It’s great, ‘ you say with complete honesty, ‘really great.’ Even the corners of his eyes are smiling as he clips it onto the line to dry. You remember Mike’s face at breakfast this morning, no hint of the nightmare or whatever it was that woke him up. You remember thinking you weren’t the only person trying to be normal again. 

Jonathan leans toward you, just a shift of his weight really, elbow so close to nudging your arm you feel the air move around the action. 

‘Did something happen?’ he asks it low, Diane is still in the room, methodically developing and drying her prints at the station by the door. 

‘No,’ you shake your head once, try for a second time and end up just tilting your head to the side, ‘maybe.’ You stare at the photo of Will and Mike, at the joy on their faces.

‘Is everybody okay?’ He’s like Diane now, placing sheets in trays and lifting them out, pinning, unpinning in smooth uninterupted motions.

‘Yea,’ you pause again, ‘maybe.’ You start twisting your ring around your finger. ‘It’s dead right?’ You ask the wall, you’re not even looking at the photos anymore but you don’t want to see his face yet, in case your fear is there too. 

He pauses, index fingers tapping against the side of the tray. They still when he answers.

‘Yea, it’s dead.’ Something smooths out in your gut, a tensed muscle let’s go in small release.

‘And El?’ You look at his face now, you need to know you’re not alone in praying that young girl died instead of whatever else. He’s looking at the photo of his brother but you doubt he’s actually seeing it.

‘Better dead than trapped,’ it’s rough coming out of his throat, ‘and alone.’ And there is what kept you from truly falling asleep again last night. Not the awkward position of supporting Mikes weight, not even your usual dread about seeing the monster again in your dreams. 

‘What if she isn’t?’ You hold your gaze steady at the corner of his eye, you need him to look at you for this, need him to understand. He frowns and turns toward you.

‘What? Not dead?’ It’s barely audible over Diane changing out solution into her trays. You move your head slowly, side to side, keeping your eyes on his. The bell rings as you open your mouth but you know he makes out the words. You can see the understanding, the dread, the tick of his jawbone clenching together in the glow of red light.  
‘Not alone.’

*

Steve drops you at the door after your date, a movie and burgers like every Saturday, and the smile on your face as you wave him off is mostly real. Mostly.

You wish kissing him felt the same, like a light turning on inside you or that swoop you got on the ferris wheel; how part of you couldn’t believe Steve Harrington wanted to kiss you. It’s still nice, warm, but everything stays dark and still inside you. 

Maybe this will pass. Maybe this is just part of getting back to normal.

You exhale and let your breath condense around you, feel it hang in the air. The molecules separate and you watch it start to fade away into the cool dark, but headlights cut through it and when you squint through the glare your breath is gone and Jonathans car is next to you.

He’s turning it off and stepping out before you’ve recovered from the headlights dimimg and imprinting the afterimage on your eyelids. Every blink of your eyes to clear it brings him closer until he’s standing in front of you, one hand in his jacket pocket against the cold, the keys in the other.

‘You grabbing Mike?’ He asks, keys chiming out when he points toward Lucas’ house. You hadn’t been, had forgotten that the campaign had moved to tonight, Lucas’s grandparents coming to Sunday dinner causing a reschedule.

‘Yeah,’ it’s only a little lie, a white lie, like your Mom says. For when replacing the truth doesn’t really hurt anyone.  
No one needs to know you were standing alone in the dark trying to save the solitude, trap it so you could unbottle it later when you needed it. 

Jonathan starts to walk down the stone pathway to the door Lucas’s mom has painted bright blue this year, and you match your stride to his. 

‘You ready for midterms?’ It’s such a normal question, you nearly fall out of step when he asks, he doesn’t wait for your answer though, answers it himself ‘of course you are,’ and he’s smiling at you a little. You exhale heavily and there’s a little smile on your face too, though you’re surprised to find it there.

‘Are you ready for midterms,’ you toss back, a little pointedly. His face becomes mock serious in an instant.

‘Oh absolutely,’ he reaches his hand out for the doorbell, ‘not sleeping has really given me a lot of spare time.’ He presses the button with hand holding the keys and they chime along with the bell. 

You manage to get your face under control when Mrs. Sinclair opens the door and invites you into the kitchen to wait for the campaign to be over. You know you successfully made small talk as she put milk and cookies out on the breakfast bar for you and Jonathan before disappearing back into the living room. 

You wait until you hear the volume of the TV turn back up before you look at him. He’s started eating a cookie already.

‘How long,’ you start and then immediately hold your hand up to stop any reply, ‘ since November? This whole time?’ you ask instead. He raises his eyes to yours and there are familiar smudges beneath them.

‘Did you think it was only you?’ He asks back, and you didn’t, not really. Well, not since Mike. 

‘You’re hard to read,’ you accuse, and his eyebrows raise in surprise, ‘sometimes.’ He puts the rest of the cookie in his mouth, talks around it, a hard inflection on that first syllable

‘I’m hard to read.’ You can feel the frown on your face at that, but the cookies aren’t going anywhere so you take one, eat half in a bite.

‘You never said anything.’ You tap your nail against the rim of the plate. He shrugs, reaches for another cookie at the same time.

‘Neither did you.’ You frown harder at that, very aware of the muscles in your face all of a sudden. He wasn’t wrong, you hadn’t said anything, so how did he know?

‘You knew though.’ It’s not even a question. 

He’s just picking at the cookie now, breaking it into pieces, but he gives you that look from the corner of his eye.  
‘If I was, you had to be.’ He’s quiet for a minute. ‘Does anything help?’ 

Leaning forward now, elbows on the counter, he looks over his shoulder at you, watches your face. The laughter from the living room seeps through the doorway, and you feel something tilt in your chest. 

Maybe fighting monsters with someone makes different rules. 

You need to clear your throat, there’ s a tickle there that burns, makes the shape of words in your mouth; I close my eyes and imagine you breathing next to me.

‘I keep the light on.’ White lie.

*

‘How’s Mike doing?’ the question breaks your concentration and you look up from your algebra homework and meet Steve’s inquiring face. 

You’re grouped at the foot of your bed, like the time he snuck in, only now the door is open and your mom brought in snacks an hour ago. Your eyes go to the open door now, worried someone had made it upstairs when you weren’t paying attention, but the hallway is clear.

‘I’m not sure,’ you answer, almost with complete honesty, ‘he doesn’t talk about it.’ You don’t either though, and neither does Jonathan. Steve nods his head, like he was expecting that, makes a note on his own page. 

‘How are you doing?’ and this time you know you can’t trust your face so you number your pages unnecessarily, buy yourself some time. ‘Come on Nance,’ he lays his pencil down.

‘I don’t know.’ You answer, your shoulders lifting and you want to run your hands over your face and into your hair until the pressure in your temples dies down. You link your fingers together in your lap instead and shrug again, ‘I don’t know.’ Steve’s lower jaw pushes out a little and he swallows hard.

‘Is it me?’ And that’s easy for you, because it’s not, it’s really not him.

‘No,’ you shake your head too, ‘no, it’ s not you.’ He nods again, shallow, like he did when you talked about Mike.

‘But it’s not not me, right?’ It barely makes sense but it’s exactly right and you want to cry because you’re not going to able to do this right, you know it. 

‘Everything feels different now,’ you clench your hands tighter together, ‘and I’m trying,’ your breath hitches. ‘I keep waiting to feel normal again and I’m not,’ you feel your mouth want to tremble so you clench your jaw and meet his eyes. ‘I’m not.’ 

‘Okay,’ his voice is shaky too and he presses his lips together breifly. ‘I don’t want you to feel like you have to-’ he pauses to clear his throat, to reach out his hand to cover yours. ‘Let’s take a break, you and me.’ He nods again while he’s speaking, more confident as the words go on, ‘maybe we need it.’ 

You don’t know what to say and your lungs still feel shaky from trapping the tears, so you inhale and nod, try to make your mouth less grim. ‘Okay,’ he repeats, ‘But you still need to help me study for finals.’ Your laugh is thick and full of water but it’s there.

‘Okay,’ you answer, ‘okay.’

*

Maybe it’s sort of terrible, because you can see it’s hurting him, but it’ so much easier to be Steve’s friend. 

You don’t have to fake your face at school at all anymore, Jonathan could read you anyway and now Steve understands a little better. And with Barb gone, there’s no one else you’d talk to, or care to talk to, that would need to see you smile like everythings normal when it’s definitely not.

Jonathan finds you at the cemetary on a Thursday. The rest of the school is at the pep rally and you’d thought he was covering for the paper so you’re frowning a little when he walks through the gate to stand next to you. 

There’s a dandelion in his hand and he rests it carefully into the little knot in the middle of the trunk before leaning against the iron fence. He doesn’t say a word, but you’re fairly used to that now, used to him, and you know his way.

He’s working up to something, so you wait him out. 

It takes almost ten minutes but then he’s uncrossing his ankles and standing up from the slouch he was in against the fence. He’s watching the road behind you and you’re watching him so you see the moment his mouth firms and he turns his eyes to your face. 

‘There’s something wrong with Will.’ The fingers of your left hand twitch and you almost reach out to grab his shoulder, the monster?- ‘He’s having dreams,’ Jonathan says it like a question, ‘only he’s having them when he’s awake now too.’ 

And it’s the oddest thing, but you feel your breathing even out, your heartbeat slows in your ears. 

‘It’s not over.’ You barely hear yourself through the tingling sensation that’s spread down your fingers and steadied your hands. You remember feeling Jonathan’s knee’s against yours on the couch, the burning pain in your palm and you know it must be in your voice, in the shape of your mouth. 

Jonathan’s eyes are still on your face and there’s something in them too; like brass bullet casings warm to the touch, like the reach you make for his hand when you jerk awake from the dreams.

‘No, it’s not over.’ He’s got his hands in his pockets and he tips his chin up toward you, something sly and calm in the set of his shoulders. Maybe his heart finally slowed down too because he’s looking out toward the road again.

When he speaks, it’s with slow, deliberate smoothness, and his eyes shift to you at the last second. 

A match slides against the inside of your ribs and catches.

‘We’ll need your gun.’ 

*


End file.
